Chapter 7 - The Takahashi UltimatumThe freezing waters of Salford Quays closed over Marcus Vance with a muffled splash. He surfaced a second later, coughing up black sludge and clinging desperately to a rusted mooring ring on the side of the pier.
"Pull me up! Roses, help me up!" Marcus screamed, his tailored suit ruined, his face pale with hypothermic shock.
Alexander walked slowly to the edge of the pier, looking down at his former CFO with absolute detachment. "You wanted my empire, Marcus. You wanted Takahashi's trillion-dollar future. You can keep the bottom of the canal."
He turned away, leaving the screaming man to the Manchester tide. Declan stood nearby, smoking a cigarette and grinning behind his thick grey beard.
"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Mr. Roses," Declan said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the damp night air. "So, what’s the master plan now? The Yakuza still own half of Tokyo, and Takahashi’s private jet is scheduled to land at Manchester Airport in less than two hours."
Alexander looked down at the two puppies. The tan puppy sat regally by his boots, while the white puppy trotted over, pressing its soft head against Alexander’s hand. The cold, empty void in his chest—the one he had carried for six years since Clara's death—felt suddenly, miraculously warm.
"We’re not running anymore, Declan," Alexander said, picking up both puppies and tucking them securely into his coat. "We’re going to the airport. It’s time I had a face-to-face meeting with the Chairman."
Forty-five minutes later, the battered Ford Transit slammed to a halt on the private tarmac of Manchester Airport, cutting off the sleek, black Gulfstream jet that had just taxied to a stop.
The airstairs lowered.
Accompanied by four heavily armed bodyguards, Chairman Takahashi—an impeccably dressed elderly man with cold, calculating eyes—stepped out into the biting Manchester wind. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Alexander Roses walking toward him across the tarmac, bleeding, bruised, wearing a ruined shirt, but flanked by a scarred dockworker and two tiny puppies.
"Alexander," Takahashi said smoothly, bowing slightly. "I must admit, I underestimated your resilience. I thought the car crash would save us both a lot of paperwork."
"You shouldn't have touched her research, Takahashi," Alexander said, his voice cutting through the whine of the jet engines like a razor.
Takahashi’s eyes flickered down to the puppies in Alexander's arms. A flicker of genuine shock crossed the old man's face. "Impossible. The biological neural transfer protocol was destroyed in Zurich six years ago."
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"My wife was smarter than your entire syndicate," Alexander replied. "And her work doesn't belong to a corporation anymore."
Takahashi smiled coldly, signaling his bodyguards to raise their weapons. "A touching sentiment, Mr. Roses. But sentiment doesn't stop bullets."
